


An Acquired Taste

by thirstworldproblemss



Category: The Mentalist
Genre: Adult Breastfeeding, F/M, Female Reader, Lactation Kink, PWP, Pregnant Female Reader, Pregnant Sex, Shameless Smut, Smut, Vaginal Sex, loving smut, no y/n
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-26 01:22:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30098139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thirstworldproblemss/pseuds/thirstworldproblemss
Summary: Marcus discovers a new kink.  [pregnant f reader x Marcus, no y/n]
Relationships: Marcus Pike/Reader, Marcus Pike/You
Comments: 1
Kudos: 22





	An Acquired Taste

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Marcus Pike Lactation Kinktober fic](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/777996) by absurdthirst. 



> Alright folks, buckle up! This is the first fanfic I’ve written since 2007, and it’s basically 7 straight pages of Marcus Pike lactation kink smut. (What am I even doing?🙈) 
> 
> Adjacent to the Warm Welcome Home series
> 
> Originally posted on tumblr.

Marcus has always kind of had a thing for filling you up with his come. He feels a little silly about it—it’s kind of cavemanish after all—but he firmly believes that what two consenting adults get up to is nobody’s business but their own. He consoles himself that at least you’re just as into it as he is.

Of course, now that you’re eight months pregnant, seeing your beautiful belly swollen with his child is a whole new level of sexy to get off on. The idea that he filled you up so well that he put that baby inside you? That does things to _both_ of you, and he can only be grateful your interests line up so well with his own.

—

It’s a weekday morning. You’re in the bathroom—a place you’ve been visiting a lot lately—when he hears you make a surprised noise, and you call him to come look. He’s a little concerned that something might be wrong, but that goes right out the window as soon as he sees you: huge pregnant belly peeking out from under a white maternity tank top that is now perfectly see-through at the nipples because your breasts are _leaking_. 

_Holy shit._

Your shirt and your beautiful tits are wet with _breastmilk_ , milk that your body made for _his_ baby. Poor Marcus can only stand there frozen, gaping as you grumble and pull your damp shirt off over your head.

Then you poke at your nipples, which are still glistening wetly in light of the bathroom, and Marcus feels flushed and shaky and so fucking turned on he thinks he might explode. He finally manages to drags his eyes away from the sexiest fucking thing he’s ever seen to glance down at his tented boxers in disbelief.

_Fuck._

Apparently this is going to be a thing for him now too because he just went from zero to hard enough to cut glass so fast he’s a little lightheaded. Marcus kind of wants to be a little worried about how you keep bringing out his caveman side, but all he can do is stare at your wet tits and pray to god that you’ll let him have a taste.

—

Marcus doesn’t mean to hide how he’s feeling from you. It just happens. You had announced you were taking a shower and closed the bathroom door before he could get his brain back in gear, and now it feels like it would be weird to knock and interrupt your shower just to tell you… _what_? 

What would he even say? That your tits, wet with breastmilk, are the sexiest thing he’s ever seen? It’s the truth, but it feels embarrassing to admit and like it might be intrusive—he doesn’t want to make you feel pressured or uncomfortable.

Somehow, miraculously, he manages to get his dazed ass dressed for work, hurrying to finish getting ready before your shower is over.

“I’m off to work. Love you, sweetheart.” He calls through the bathroom door and feels like a coward for running away, but he’s not sure he could manage a normal goodbye with the image of your beautiful breasts leaking milk seared across his every thought. 

He just needs a little time calm down and get things straight in his own head, then he’ll talk to you about it.

-

He tries to examine his feelings on the drive to work. 

Thanks to “What to Expect When You’re Expecting” and the other pregnancy books you two have read, Marcus had already known that your breasts might be off limits at some point due to over sensitivity, soreness, or lactation. He had thought he was fine with that, _wants_ to be fine with it. You had both agreed that you’d try to breastfeed the baby for a year or more if possible, and he still wants that for his child.

He just hadn’t anticipated his own reaction. And now he feels guilty because he can’t imagine seeing you like that every day for months without being allowed to touch. He’ll go crazy. He feels like he’s already crazy. Tied up in knots, lost in a haze of lust and guilt and worst of all— _jealousy_. 

He’s jealous of his own unborn child, and it feels horrible. 

—

Marcus spends the whole morning in a daze, unable to focus on anything at work. 

When your name pops up on his caller ID during his lunch break, he’s not sure if your call is going to be a good distraction or further damnation, but he still picks up before the third ring. He’s not going to ignore your calls for anything less than a life or death situation, and his head being a mess hardly qualifies.

“Hey, sweetheart.” Thankfully his voice comes out sounding normal enough.

You tell him you’re calling “just to say hi,” and the two of you chat for a few minutes. Something in your voice makes him think you might be upset, but you deny it when he asks.

“I’m fine, baby, just missing you,” you reassure him before saying your goodbyes. But still, Marcus worries.

-

His concern for you is an even bigger distraction than… the _other_ thing, though sometimes worrying about you turns into thinking about your gorgeous tits all slick and shiny with milk, which turns into him having to adjust himself in his slacks because he’s half hard and thoroughly disgusted with himself.

By midafternoon, he’s still worried about you and feeling pretty frazzled all around. He asks his colleagues if they mind if he heads out early, and everyone is quick to reassure him that it’s fine. They’re probably sick of his inability to concentrate today—Marcus certainly is.

—

He makes the drive home as quickly as he can without breaking any traffic laws, feeling guilty and anxious and trying not to think about anything at all.

—

When he gets home, he finds you sitting shirtless at the kitchen table, the pump you got at the baby shower spread out in front of you, and Marcus swears his heart cracks in his chest when you look up at him with tears in your eyes.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” he asks, laying his hand on your shoulder as gently as he knows how.

“They hurt,” you whimper, gesturing helplessly to your chest. Your breasts look larger than they had this morning, and he can see a pearly drop of milk gathered at the tip of each nipple. “I can’t get the stupid pump to work right, and they just hurt so badly.”

 _Shit._

Marcus knows exactly how to help you, and he curses himself for the guilty sort of elation that’s building in his chest. This is the perfect opportunity—it’s everything he’s wanted since he saw you in that wet shirt this morning, but in the worst possible way. He doesn’t—(does)— _doesn’t_ want to take advantage of you, but he can’t stand to see you hurting.

Marcus raises a hand to cup your cheek, a little appalled to realize it’s shaking slightly, and presses a gentle kiss to your lips. He pulls you to your feet and tells you, over the buzzing in his ears, that he has an idea that might help you.

He guides you gently to the couch and urges you to sit down. When you do, a single droplet of milk shakes loose from your left nipple, and Marcus can’t keep his eyes from following it as it slides lazily down the curve of your stomach, leaving a shiny wet streak behind. 

_Oh god._

Marcus drops to his knees in front of you, landing harder than he meant to, but he barely feels the pain over the low heat blazing in his gut.

“Marcus?” You whisper his name like it’s a question, and he tears himself away to look into your eyes.

“I can help, baby, if you’ll let me,” he says, framing your breasts with his hands and bending down to press a soft kiss just above one leaking nipple.

You whimper again, evidently even that barely there pressure is too much.

Your breasts feel hot to the touch and unusually solid under his hands, so full of milk they’re almost hard, and Marcus tries to ignore the way the fire in his belly is growing hotter by the second. He _hates_ that he’s getting turned on by something that’s causing you pain, but he’s not going to let his issues stop him from offering to help you.

“This okay?” He whispers, ghosting his tongue over your flesh. Trying to show you what he means to do because he’s not sure he can say it out loud without spontaneously combusting.

You taste sweeter than usual, and Marcus realizes with a guilty start that it’s the milk. He hadn’t known it would be _sweet_.

He lets the taste of your milk linger on his tongue longer than he should, and he can’t tell if it’s shame or desire that makes his face grow hot. 

It’s only when you bite your lip and bring a hand up to tangle in his hair, that Marcus becomes aware of just how hard his cock is, how it’s straining against his zipper. He walks his knees a little closer to the couch, guiltily hoping you won’t notice the effect this is having on him.

His heartbeat is pounding in his ears, but he ignores it and watches your face, waiting for you to answer his question. He wants this to be about _you_. He’s not going to do anything without your consent, no matter how dire the need or temptation.

“Just be gentle please,” you tell him, and his gut clenches electrically. Permission, you’re giving him _permission_.

“Of course, love. Let me know if anything hurts.” He has to work to keep his voice steady.

“It already hurts, Marcus!” You huff. “Get on with it, please.”

He laughs. _God, he loves you._ “That’s my girl!” He’s still smiling when he wraps his lips carefully around your nipple.

You cry out at his first tentative suck, obviously in pain, and he pulls away, feeling guilty all over again.

 _Oh_ , but then your hand is tugging gently on his hair, pulling him back.

“Oh god, don’t stop. _Please_ , Marcus.” You whimper, and his cock pulses because you sound exactly like you do when he’s fucking up into your sweet cunt and gets the angle just right. _Jesus._ If he wasn’t already hard and straining he sure as hell would be now. 

He lets you draw his mouth back to your breast, equal parts wanting to help you feel better and anxious for another taste of heaven.

Marcus sucks on your nipple as gently as he can, increasing the pressure only slightly when he’s rewarded with a gasp and a trickle of milk against his tongue.

You’re making the sexiest sounds, whimpering and groaning with each move of his mouth. He leans into you without meaning to, sharp pleasure radiating from where his hard-on presses against the edge of the couch. Marcus is pretty sure this is the hottest goddamn thing that’s ever happened to him. He’s so turned on he’s nearly lightheaded with it.

Suddenly you groan long and loud, and milk spurts into his mouth harder and faster than before. Your free hand grabs his and he watches in awe as you bring it up to your other breast, pressing his fingers to the nipple that’s spraying out little spurts of milk in time with the one in his mouth.

Marcus groans, curling into you, hips rutting involuntarily against the couch. He swallows and swallows and _swallows_ and presses his hips into the upholstery, trying desperately not to come in his pants like some overeager teenager.

After a long minute, the flow of milk tapers off a bit, and Marcus breathes deeply through his nose, trying to regain his equilibrium. He feels hot all over and shaky, like the aftermath of an adrenaline rush. His cock is throbbing painfully, and he almost wishes he _had_ come in his slacks, not sure how he’s going to get out of this without taking advantage of you or having to explain everything. 

“Marcus,” you say from above him, drawing his attention back to you. “I need you.” You squeeze his hand where it’s covering your other breast, now wet and sticky with milk. 

_Of course. That one must still be full._ His dick twitches unhelpfully at the realization, and he brings his free hand down to grip the meat of his thigh, trying to ground himself and will his aching cock into submission. This is to help _you_ , damn it! His fucking libido can wait. 

“I’ve got you, baby,” he reassures, leaning over to take your other nipple into his mouth. He can’t suppress a moan when your milk immediately pools on his tongue.

“No, Marcus, I…..” you break off, and he looks up at you, confused.

Your eyes are heavy-lidded, and your lower lip is caught between your teeth. You look conflicted. You look like sin. You look like the hottest goddamn thing he’s ever seen in his _life_ , and when he drags his mouth away from your breast again it is the single greatest act of willpower he’s ever performed.

“You okay, sweetheart?” He’s trying for calm and comforting, but his voice sounds too deep, too raw in his own ears. “Is it too much?”

“No, it’s….” You turn your face to the side, still chewing on your lip, and you won’t meet his eyes. That makes his gut clenches in a much less pleasant way. He moves his hand from his thigh to yours, trying to be reassuring.

“Shit, baby, did I do something that made you uncomfortable? Do you want me to stop?”

At this your eyes shoot back to his, “No!” 

_Oh thank god!_

“It’s just that….” You chew on your lip some more, and Marcus tries to wait patiently while your breast milk drips through his fingers and his fucking traitorous cock throbs, pulsing in time with his heartbeat.

“It… it feels _good_ ,” you confess, and Marcus’s whole body locks up. His hands clench involuntarily on your breast and thigh, and your moan echoes low and dirty in his ears.

“Jesus,” he breathes, and you drop your head, obviously embarrassed now.

“I’m sorry, Marcus. I know it’s weird, and you’re just trying to help me, and it hurts, but it also feels good and I….” you break off, dragging one of his hands down to press hard against your crotch.

“ _Please,_ ” you beg, rubbing against his hand. He can feel how hot you are, how _wet—_ you’ve soaked right through your leggings.

Marcus is on _fire_ , his whole body lit up like the heat of your pussy is an electric current.

“Yes. _Fuck_. Baby, _yes._ Just let me—” He scrambles for the waist of your leggings, and when you lift your hips for him, he drags them down to your ankles along with your underwear.

“Yours too, yours too!” You pant, hands scrabbling at his waistband. “I want you inside me, _please_!” And Marcus swears his brain whites out at that.

His fingers fumble with yours, both of you trying to undo his belt at the same time. Your hand brushes against his cock, and Marcus has to bite his lip _hard_ so he doesn’t come right fucking here and now.

“Jesus, baby. I’m not gonna last,” he confesses as he finally gets his pants undone and pushes them down far enough to free his cock. “You’re so fucking sexy, sweetheart, all full of my baby.”

He trails a hand over your swollen belly, then grabs your hips, yanking you to the edge of the sofa.

You gasp so pretty for him as you fall back against the cushions.

“And then there’s _this_ ….” He reaches for your breast, running a gentle finger over your still damp nipple. Even that slight touch has more pearly drops spilling out, and Marcus has to grip his cock hard at the base to keep things from being over before they even start.

“Fucking sexiest thing I’ve ever seen,” he grits out, overwrought and slightly horrified by how out of control he feels.

“ _Please_ , Marcus,” you sob, reaching for him. You sound almost as desperate as he feels.

“‘M right here, sweetheart,” and what else can he do but give you what you’re asking for? 

He rucks up his shirt and tucks the ends under to keep it out of the way, then lines his cock up and pushes inside. 

You’re so wet that it barely takes any force at all. He just leans forward, and you take him all in one hot, wet, _aching_ slide. He holds himself there for a long minute, locked deep inside you, panting through the blinding pleasure as your perfect cunt pulses around him.

Marcus’s eyes are closed. He doesn’t remember shutting them, but there’s no way he’s opening them now. Normally he can’t get enough of watching you fall to pieces, but right now he can’t even look at you or it’s all going to be over. He grits his teeth and tries to get a better grip on his ragged self-control.

Marcus takes a deep breath and straightens up away from you. He lets it out as he pulls his hips back, feeling your cunt clench around his retreating cock.

He breathes in. Fucks into you. Tries to find some sort of rhythm that will let him last more than two seconds.

Breathes out. Pulls out. Tries to get a hand between you to rub at your clit.

Breathes in. Fucks into you. Tries to ignore the way you’re whining and writhing on his cock. _Fuck._

Breathes out. Pulls out. Tries to ignore the sparks skittering down his spine. 

Breathes in. Fucks into you. Gets distracted by the feeling of something scraping at his chest and his head, then his shirt and hair are being pulled on. Belatedly, Marcus realizes that you have one hand fisted in the front of his button-down, the other in his hair, and are trying to tug him forward.

He breathes out. Lets you pull him in, and it feels like surrender. He’s not going to last. He’ll have to make it up to you later.

He breathes in. Letting you reel him in farther, bending over the hard curve of your pregnant belly.

He breathes out. Opens his eyes to see your beautiful, beloved face drawn with pleasure, then you’re pulling him down to your still leaking breasts, and—

_Marcus. Forgets. How. To Breathe._

There are no thoughts in his head. Nothing exists except you and his driving need to be as close to you as he can, to fill you and be filled by you in every possible way.

Marcus takes your nipple into his mouth again and sucks hard. Revels in the intoxicating taste of your milk. He can’t stop pushing his hips into you. He’s not really even pulling out anymore, can’t bear even that momentary separation. He just presses and presses into you, desperate to be closer. Your hips are rolling against him, and every aching squeeze of your cunt drives him ever higher.

Then the breathy whimpers he just realized you’ve been making for a while escalate into a loud sobbing moan, and your perfect cunt clamps down even tighter, pulsing around his cock.

Marcus has just enough brainpower left to realize that you’re coming, and then he’s gone too. Cock pulsing, body shuddering, Marcus is on fire with ecstasy as he empties himself into you. His whole body shudders as he fills you again and again and _again_ , coming so hard he might actually black out for a second.

—

When he comes back to himself, it’s to the feeling of your fingers combing through his hair. Your nipple is still in his mouth, and he sucks on it contemplatively. Barely a drop of breastmilk comes out, but the taste of it makes him gasp, and his softening cock twitches inside you.

“Wow. _Really?_ ” Your chest bounces underneath him as you giggle. Your words bring him back to himself, and Marcus sits up quickly, disengaging your bodies with the sudden motion.

“I… uh…” He runs a nervous hand through his hair, scrambling to figure out how he’s going to explain his over-the-top reaction to you when he’s barely even admitted the depth of his…. _Jesus_ … his _kink_ to himself. He feels off balance and guilty all over again.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.” Now he’s the one that can’t quite look you in the eye. He focuses on your forehead instead. Good enough. “I was supposed to be helping you, but I think I went a little bit caveman on you instead.” He cringes internally, thinking about what his behavior must have been like for you.

“I’m sorry that it got so… so….” He struggles for a minute to find the words to describe what just happened, then gives up. He shrugs helplessly. Waits to see if you’ll accept his poor excuse for an apology.

“So fucking amazing?” His eyes snap to your face. You’re smiling warmly at him as you continue, “…out of this world? …mind-blowing?”

 _Oh. You. Are. Amazing. You’re perfect._ Fuck _, how are you so fucking perfect?_

“I mean, you’re usually the one who’s in control and makes me fall apart. It was sexy as hell to watch you lose it, Marcus, even just a little bit. I think I get why you like driving me crazy so much.”

Marcus knows he’s staring at you, has no idea what his face is doing right now, but he can’t seem to stop.

“Besides,” you begin, and Marcus feels his breath catch at the sly tone you only use when you’re about to say something naughty. “I’m glad you liked it, because I’ve been re-reading those baby books, and,” you grab his hand and bring it up to your milk-sticky breast, and Marcus damn near swallows his tongue “…I’m going to need you to make a habit of doing that _,_ to make sure I’ll be able to produce enough milk for our baby.”

Forget his face, Marcus has no idea what his emotions are doing right now either. He swallows, feeling strangely like he might cry. Tries to get himself under control.

“I love you, baby. So _much_ ,” he finally manages.

“Love you too.” You reach for him, and he lets you pull him up onto the couch next to you. 

Marcus rests his head gently on your shoulder, watches as you clasps his hand between both of yours, and wonders how in the world he ever got so lucky.


End file.
